Venus In Furs
by Bait and Switch
Summary: HIATUS Follows Gilbert's obsession with powerful women. Elizbeta to be exact. When she agrees to marry him and give him his hearts desire, he could not imagine how tortuous love would become. Not Lemony. T for violence and swearin'.
1. 1 Introduction

An Author's note: This is not a parody but a rewrite inspired by the epic 'its bloody early evening' but not funny. The guy who really wrote this was the Austrian who put the M in BDSM. Literally! Leopold von Sacher-Masoch. MASOCH, get it?

Sort of an AU but not really, just a deviation of history. Though I could never really imagine the awesome one act like this. I have tried to keep in a similar style for the main story. Not any proper Lemons or anything like that, more devotion and a need to feel someone's property. I read this book then used an e-book version to change it. Cheating but I think it will be worth it to get a version of the story out there to you people.

The original document was almost 100 pages long. Its goanna be a Bitch to finish.

Message me about any major cock-ups on spelling, grammar ect if ya want, but remember I am English so there might be some "extra U"s in words like colour. Because that is how it is written. X

* * *

><p><strong>VENUS IN FURS<strong>

_"But the Almighty Lord hath struck him,__  
><em>_and hath delivered him into the hands of__  
><em>_a woman."_

—The Vulgate, Judith, xvi. 7.

Canada dreamt. His dream was of a woman dressed in dark furs, marble Goddess: Venus. They talked of the role of men and of women and of how they would battle for dominance. Of how he was ungrateful for the affection she gave him. Of how passion places a man in the hand of the woman.

"Wake up, little retard." Said Gilbert staring down at his favourite Canadian. "You begged me to tell you my story about why I hate specks so much and then go and fall asleep. Ungrateful bastard."

"I think 'beg' is a little extreme" came the sleepy reply

"Whatever," He said as he sat on the couch next to his companion. "Take it. It's made up of stuff from the awesome records of my life!" Passing a small manuscript. He sounds bitter, though.

This was the first time Mathew had been allowed in to this part of the house (reserved for the awesome). The room was dark, lit by candles, as electricity is for losers. The walls lined with bookcases and a large oil painting hung on the wall above a marble fire place. Its subject was strange enough.

A beautiful woman with a radiant smile upon her face, with abundant hair tied into a classical knot, on which white powder lay like a gentle snow, was resting on an ottoman, supported on her left arm. She was nude but for her dark furs. Her right hand played with a lash, while her bare foot rested carelessly on a man, lying before her like a slave, like a dog. In the thick brush strokes of the painting this man lay brooding melancholy and passionate devotion; he looked up to her with the ecstatic burning eye of a martyr. This man, the footstool for her feet, was Gilbert, but missing many scars, and, it seemed, a few human years younger.

"_Venus in Furs_," Mathew cried, pointing to the picture. "That is the way I saw her in my dream."

"Yeah," sighed Gilbert, "only I dreamed my dream with open eyes."

"What?"

"It is a tiresome story. The one in that book you hold."

"I guess you picture suggested it," the younger continued. "I just can't imagine you playing a role like that in your time. Care to explain."

"Look at its counterpart," replied his strange friend, ignoring the questions, as per usual. Gilbert rose and pointed with his finger at the fur with which Titian garbed his goddess of love.

"It, too, is a 'Venus in Furs,'" he said with a slight smile. "I don't believe that the old Venetian had any secondary intention. He simply painted the portrait of some aristocratic bitch Mesalina, and was tactful enough to let Cupid hold the mirror in which she makes sure she still has a face. The picture is painted flattery. Later some 'expert' in that Rococo period baptized the lady with the name of Venus. The furs of the despot in which Titian's fair model wrapped herself, probably more for fear of a cold than out of modesty, have become a symbol of the tyranny and cruelty that constitute woman's essence and her beauty."

He resumed: "But enough of that. The picture, as it now exists, is a bitter satire on our love. Venus in this abstract North, in this icy Christian world, has to creep into huge black furs so as not to catch cold—"

Gilbert laughed, and lighted a fresh cigarette.

"You're slipping into old speech, again, Gil"

Just then the door opened and an attractive, stoutish, blonde girl entered. She had kindly eyes, was dressed in black silk, and brought us cold meat and eggs with our tea. Gilbert took one of the latter, and decapitated it with his knife.

"Oi! Didn't I tell you that I want them soft-boiled?" he cried with a violence that made the young woman tremble.

"But my dear Gil—" she said timidly.

"Gil, nothing," he yelled, "you are to obey, _obey_, do you understand?" and he tore the _lance _which was hanging beside the weapons from its hook.

The woman fled from the chamber quickly and timidly like a little doe.

"Just fuck off!" he called after her.

"But Gilbert," Mathew said placing his hand on the other's arm, "how can you treat them like that? Don't get all 'how can they resist me' rubbish, an' tell me!"

"Look at the woman," he replied, blinking. "Had I flattered her, she would have no respect. Assume I am anything like some human. Treat her like this: she treads careful. Not my fault she adores me."

"Bullshit!"

"Bullshit, nothing, that is the way you have to break in women."

"Well, I don't like it. It's not the Middle ages anymore, no matter how bad you wish it was."

"Why not," he said animatedly. "Did Francy not tell you about the 'hammer and anvil'? Didn't Lady Venus in your dream prove that to you? Woman's power lies in man's passion, and she knows how to use it, if man doesn't understand himself. He has only one choice: to be the _tyrant_ over or the _slave_ of woman. As soon as he gives in, the lash will soon fall upon him."

"You like it when I have the whip in my hands!"

"I know you will stop. I know I could make you stop if otherwise. I know I can make you and I know that it's just for the bedroom on the odd occasion," he replied, nodding his head, "_I have actually felt the lash_. I am cured. Do you still care to know how?"

He moved the book again "Read."

Gilbert sat down by the chimney with his back toward me, and seemed to dream with open eyes. Silence had fallen so he put on his headphones, out of place in this traditional room, leaving his friend and lover to read. Mathew opened the manuscript and read:

CONFESSIONS OF A SUPERSENSUAL MAN.

In the margin of the manuscript was a variation of the well- known lines from _Faust_:

"Thou supersensual sensual woer  
>A woman leads you by the nose."<br>—MEPHISTOPHELES.

The teen turned the title-page and read: "What follows has been extracted from my Diary as it is hard to remember my emotions vividly enough. This way, it is as if it only happened a week before and I had not learnt from my mistakes" The style was different to Gilberts usual tone but retained some of his blunt nature.

It was once said that "the real comic muse is the one under whose laughing mask tears roll down."

A wonderful saying, for a mortal.

It is a curious feeling, writing in the calm so far from the sounds and scent of war. The atmosphere is calm yet stimulating with the overbearing smell of flowers giving me a head ache. The smoke for the fireplace curls in the air. Condensing into figures which dance and mock me as they move about me. Yet I smile and laugh involuntarily at how absurd it is for me to be recording this little adventure. It is true I am amazing. Why not include this little part of me. I am not writing in any ink, though. This is the red blood that flows from my heart. All my wounds reopening, throbbing, burning, but the wet drops on the page are clear. Like water or tears. But defiantly not tears. Men don't cry. This is not my memorial. Just what happened.

The days creep along sluggishly as usual when there is no war or harvest. They have placed me in a flat somewhere in Hungary until they realise how important I am. You see no one, and no one sees you. It is boring enough to write. I would have enough leisure time here to supply a whole gallery of paintings. I could write a book of plays. Pointless tasks to take up time. In this resort I am nothing but a stranger.

Up to now I have lived. I have written poetry and painted and played my violin. But with the poetry I never go further than preparation, planning and the first few lines. I know there are those who always begin but never finish. I am one of their number.

But what am I saying?

On to today's business

I lie in my window, and the miserable little town, which fills me with despondency, really seems infinitely full of poetry. Beautiful valleys, mountains and rivers. Dull. No excitement to fill what's missing. Not that anything is missing.

The house in which I live stands in a sort of park, or forest, or wilderness, whatever it's called, and is very solitary. Not lonely. There are always people. Just they will never talk to me. Strange man from strange parts with eyes stranger still. Not that I would ever want to have their company.

The only inhabitants are myself, the house keeper and Hungary. The house keeper is not aware of who we are but she is a little old woman, growing shorter and blinder by the day. She would never notice how we never age. There is a dog with one leg shorter than the other that limps around and snaps at Gilbird. The bastard. A cat lives around here. Stupid creature. No use for it. Just plays with a ball of yarn. I believe, belongs to the nation.

She is said to be beautiful. Looks very young still strong.

She is said to be really beautiful, this widow, still very young, nineteen at the most, and very strong. It is her territory now I am on. I remember her when she was young but all confusion is gone. She dwells in the first story, and I on the ground floor. She always keeps the green blinds drawn, and has a balcony entirely overgrown with green climbing-plants to shield her from view. Clearly her people want to keep her safe. Fools. She could kill everyone in this tiny place with ease. It seems both our rulers don't want us doing anything fun.

I for my part, down below, have a comfortable, intimate balcony of honeysuckle, in which I read and write and paint and sing with my bird among the twigs. I can look up on the balcony. Sometimes I actually do so, and then from time to time a white gown gleams between the dense green network. Never see up her dress, though.

Really the beautiful woman up there doesn't interest me very much, for I am in love with someone else, and terribly unhappy at that; far more unhappy than Francis after a rejection, because the object of my adoration is of stone.

In the garden of my tiny wilderness, there is a meadow on which the deer can graze in peace. In it's centre is a stone statue of Venus. I believe the original is with a friend in Florence. This Venus is undoubtedly the most beautiful woman I have ever looked upon in my life.

That, however, does not mean much at all, for I have seen few beautiful women, or rather few women at all. My company has always been of men. Of war. Of blood. There is something of an innocence of the pure white marble.

As if something that is beautiful could be surpassed?

It is sufficient to say that this Venus is beautiful. I love her passionately with a morbid intensity; madly as one can only love a woman who never responds to our love with anything but an eternally uniform, eternally calm, stony smile. I literally adore her.

I read my old diaries beneath the leafy shade of a young tree when the sun is high. Too often I visit my cold mistress of mine by night. I lay on my knees before her. My prayers go to her now, not God. Pressing my face against the cold pedestal on which she proudly stands.

The rising moon, which just now is waning, produces an indescribable effect. As it hovers over the trees it casts a silver glow over the scene and my love's cold skin. The goddess stands as if transfigured, and seems to bathe in the soft moonlight.

Once when I was returning from my devotions by one of the walks leading to the house, I suddenly saw a woman's figure, white as stone, under the illumination of the moon and separated from me merely by a screen of trees. It seemed as if the beautiful woman of marble had taken pity on me, become alive, and followed me. I was seized by a nameless fear, my heart threatened to burst, and instead—

Well, as always, I broke down at the second part of my poem; rather, on the contrary, I did not break down, but ran away as fast as my legs would carry me.

* * *

><p>O.K! Please, look at the original. Try project Gutenberg for a free online copy. Ya can download it free too. Wonderful people. I don't know how often this will be updated but I will try me best. Please comment or tell me if this needs any changes. Hopefully no lines too similar to the original. Fingers crossed, ay?<p> 


	2. 2 An arangement?

Yeah. Have chapter two. Within an hour too. I know it's odd to some of you, my hypothetical readers, but this is how the story goes.

* * *

><p>What a wonderful accident! A wondering street trader sold me a photograph of my love. Titian's Venus with the Mirror. What a woman! The urge to write grips me once more, yet stronger this time. Upon the back I write <em>Venus in Furs.<em>

He cold skin wrapped in despotic furs. No other could wear them with such grace and cruel beauty. A few lines of Gorthe, maybe?

TO AMOR

"The pair of wings a fiction are,  
>The arrows, they are naught but claws,<br>The wreath conceals the little horns,  
>For without any doubt he is<br>Like all the gods of ancient Greece  
>Only a devil in disguise."<p>

Then I put the picture before me on my table, supporting it with a book, and looked at it. Gilbird hops over to be fed but even his chirping cannot distract me from her.

I fear her, too. The look in her eyes, holding no warmth or tenderness. Draped in furs of dark sable. Her face like marble, frozen. Again, I wrote to her:

"To love, to be loved, what happiness! And yet how the glamour of this pales in comparison with the tormenting bliss of worshipping a woman who makes a plaything out of us, of being the slave of a beautiful tyrant who treads us pitilessly underfoot. Even Samson, the hero, the giant, again put himself into the hands of Delilah, even after she had betrayed him, and again she betrayed him, and the Philistines bound him and put out his eyes which until the very end he kept fixed, drunken with rage and love, upon the beautiful betrayer."

I was breakfasting in my honey-suckle balcony, and reading my diary, reliving my first victory celebration. Later on I had scribbled a passage form some religious text:

"The almighty Lord hath struck him, and hath delivered him into the hands of a woman."

This sentence had impressed me. How rude it was to refer to women as such! "The almighty Lord hath struck him, and hath delivered him into the hands of a woman," I repeated to myself. What shall I do, so that He may punish me? Had I not committed every sin? Can my kind even be criminal?

God, if you are there, preserve us! Here comes the housekeeper, frail as ever. And up there among the green twinning and garlanding the white gown gleams again. Is it Venus, or the Nation?

This time it happens to be the Nation, she has come for something to read. I run to my room, and gather together a couple of volumes from the cluttered mess. Not apologising for them being German rather than Hungarian, she can handle it. All I saw of her where slim white hands, not at all made for the battlefield. He voice higher than I remember. She is a woman, I remind myself.

In the evening I remember my Venus is hidden amongst the pages of one of them. If she picks one up with her pale white hands? What would she say?

I hear her laugh.

Is she laughing at me?

It is now a full moon. It is already peering over the tops of the trees as I make my checks. Must not be seen. The people here don't like those with red eyes. Most don't. Being burnt as a witch is never fun. I should know.

I cannot resist. I feel a strange urge and call within me. I put on my clothes again and go out into the garden. The strange power draws me toward the meadow, toward her, who is my divinity and my beloved. Every single night. It pains me to be apart.

The night is cool. I can handle it. I would brave the Russian winter to see my love again. The intoxicating scent of the forest surrounds me. Making me drowsy. While the stars hang in the sky the gentle song of a nightingale can be heard. The smooth grass coated in a thin layer of dew. There she is. The statue stands in the canter, white body contrasting the dark sky and trees.

It's different this time. From her pale shoulders to her feet is draped and elegant dark fur. It takes much to silence me, let alone make me run. But this! The very sight of my desire fills me with such fear I cannot help but to flee. Not a retreat. I never retreat?

In my haste I miss the main path, running through the maze of bushes and trees until I find my way back. Upon the bench in front of me sits Venus. Not my stone love. The real goddess! Warm blood coursing though her veins. She has come to life just for me? Acknowledging my affections? While she still breaths her white hair is of stone. Her satin gown looks as if it is made of moonlight itself. From her shoulders, the dark fur flows. Her eyes, the coolest green, bore holes into my soul as she serves me. And then, laughs. At the great me.

The sound takes what little breath I have away from me. I cannot describe her laughter. It would be an insult to her voice to even attempt to describe it in mere words. Again, I flee. Unable to face my mistress. Lost in the trees, running from her mocking laughter. Through the dark leaf covered pathways where only pin pricks of moonlight can breach I am lost. How she has changed. It is not my Venus that I saw, I realise. I know her! How she has changed from that timid girl from the woods. Now she could stand tall, confident in whom she is: A warrior princess in all her glory. As close to a Goddess as our kind comes.

Finally I stand still, and engage in this little monologue.

It is stupid. Go talk to her. Chat about old times and try not to stare. Run. Cause a fight and get to go home. Kiss her. Run. Hide indoors. Pretend not to see her. Run. Donkey!

Now everything is perfectly clear and distinct before my eyes again. There is the fountain, there the alley of box-wood, there the house which I am slowly approaching.

Yet—suddenly the appearance is here again. Behind the green screen through which the moonlight gleams so that it seems embroidered with silver, I again see the white figure, the woman of stone whom I adore, whom I fear and flee.

With a couple of leaps I am within the house and catch my breath and reflect.

What am I really, a little sissy or a great big donkey?

The next morning, the atmosphere is dead, heavily laden with odours, yet stimulating. Again I am sitting in my honey-suckle arbour, reading in the Odyssey about the beautiful witch who transformed her admirers into beasts. A wonderful picture of antique love. While my own story is wonderful, too, the Greek myths have a beauty describing love in a way not covered by the Bible or fellow soldiers.

Above me, I hear the sound of leaves. I cat my gaze upwards to see a woman's dress. A light blue fabric drags across. Obscured by the mass of green. There is my Venus. Still beautiful without her fur. No. It is Hungary. Still: she is quite a woman. Standing in her light blue gown, looking down at me with a faint smile on her face, no doubt. Simply pretty rather than beautiful. She does not need to be. Her movements remain graceful, no sign of the battle field left upon her. She said she would change. I was a fool not to believe her warning. Her sink infinity delicate. All wounds and scars healed over. He brown hair falling about her in delicate curls. Now her eyes meet mine. Red to green. Green to red. Her I cannot run.

She observes my confusion. In my distraction I have failed to stand. How rude of me. But she smile like she used to. Roguishly. How I have missed her!

As she climbs down from her balcony to mine, somehow reataining her grace, I finally stand then bow to her. As she moves closer she cannot help but burst into childlike laughter. Must she always mock me. I stammer, as only a little sissy or great big donkey can do on such an occasion.

Thus our re-acquaintance began.

The divinity asks for my name, and mentions her own.

Her name is Elizabeta Héderváry. Finally, a human name so no more formalities.

And she is actually my Venus.

We quickly embrace, as old friends do before I manage a sentence: "What ever gave you the idea for such a strange and cruel trick?"

"That little picture, in your book," a smile "don't tell me you don't remember?"

I had forgotten. Now I do."

"And of the curious notes upon it's back?"

"Why do you call them curious?"

She looked at me.

"I have always wanted to know a real dreamer some time—for the sake of the change—and you seem one of the maddest of the tribe."

"Please, My dear lady, I do not think" I manage to force out through my stammer before she interrupts me. My blush might have been appropriate for a youngster of sixteen, but not for me, who had lived for countless decades—

"You were afraid of me last night."

She sat on a wooden chair by my table, gesturing for me to join her. She seemed to enjoy my embarrassment for I feared her more in daylight than beneath the moon. I can see her clearly here. Contempt creeps into her expression too, clearly remembering when we last me on the battlefield.

"The way you view women," she started "as if we are dangerous. Hostile forces. I wonder to what extent I have contributed to that. Their power over you seems to have an unhealthy fascination. A pleasurable torture? Perhaps…"

"Do you not share it?" I question. It quite a modern point of view.

"I do not!" Shaking her said, her curls rising up around to frame her head. "the way you look at love," She continued "it's as if you fear us. The mighty knight, 'terror of Europe' fears us!"

"It is an ideal. The women and men of the Greek myths experience something much stronger. Higher emotions of passion. The love preached by the priests is very different. Call me a heretic, the Greek love is so very different. Maybe I am worse than the heretic you see in me. Maybe it's pagan?"

"HA!" another laugh from her sweet lips. "If only Toris could her you say that!"

"Toris?"

"That boy you waged war against for having polytheism"

"I never learnt their names"

"Clearly."

Another silence fell between us.

"What has turned you from God?"

"I know he is there. I have simply lost my faith in him." I am uncomfortable, yet I cannot help but answer her questions "Maybe that is why my people have put me here."

"Don't be foolish," she snapped "The placed BOTH of us here for diplomatic reasons. They think we cause trouble so they through us from our own courts" I can taste her bitterness in the air.

"Maybe Mount Olympus would be a better place for you." Testing the waters

"To love Anchises to-day, Paris to-morrow, Adonis the day after? For us that is the only way. But I cannot fall for a mortal. I am not Venus. I could move from one man to the next but never get to close? I shall stay alone rather than watch then wither and die."

"Maybe, we, at least, ageing, for us,"

"You mean to say we could try as immortal gods together. I knew you to be arrogant before but this is a new extreme, even for your self centred soul!"

"I only look for one who is beyond those Christian teachings of duties. One who does not look for that masculine ideal"

Her face contorts into another smile "How this exile has broken you!"

"My lady I –

"It is men who look to keep their women in cages like property. No matter how guilded, I shall now be caged. To live like Venus, though. This tempts me. Humans are changeable creatures but Christianity holds them back? Maybe to live as Venus I would not have such constrictions?"

I cannot speak, as she is becoming too close to my ideal.

" So be it. I am willing to take the risk; my principles are very pagan. I will live my own life as it pleases me. I prefer to be happy than respected but humans. But why should I stay forever with one man who I once loved just because we are married? I am still young. I can still be your cruel Venus. I can enjoy it".

While she was speaking her eyes sparkled roguishly, and I had taken hold of her hands without exactly knowing what to do with them, my inexperience showing, I let them go.

"Your frankness," I said, "delights me, and not it alone—"

My confusion choked my words like a nose round my neck. Another long pause as she concedes me and my fantasy. Maybe we both have spent too long in the company of Heracles and Francis? Too many night alone with the exotic tales of love, betrayal and death.

"So," my head jerks back upwards towards her "I am to become a woman of Greece!"

"A goddess," I interrupted.

"Which one," she smiled.

"Venus."

She lifted a hand to her face, moving stray hairs back "Perhaps," another smile " even a 'Venus in Furs' so be careful my furs could smother you. For I have many to catch you in"

"Do you think, as we now have this arrangement, I could ever see you undraped?"

"_Undraped_, of course not, but in furs," she replied smiling, "would you care to see mine?"

Another uncomfortable silence fell between us. Hungary was a confident woman but she had become blunt. A trait I cannot help but admire. No dancing around a subject like to dumb women of the court. Though, to see her dance would be a delight to behold. She starts again.

"There where some Greeks who simply living in a quest for pleasure. The Cyrenaics. Ultra Hedonists"

"It would only be possible to live as such with the existence of _slaves_ to deal with physical tasks which can become such a trial. People to labour only for their masters. Or mistresses."

"Of course! A divinity such as myself should require an army of slaves. To do my bidding and mine alone. Though that fate would never befit _my _people. Another's, they must be. Fear me!"

"Why?" Though I was frightened by this sudden declaration. The cold, commanding, tone. The voice had a touch of her battle cries. Maybe… she was not as changed as I thought.

Then, slowly her lips formed as smile as she leant forwards. White teeth visible between her thin lips. I watched as these lips parted and spoke the words that would be my downfall. "Do you," she said "want to be my slave?"

I was shocked with how she asked as if you would ask the time. As if it was nothing. But I did reply. "In love, there is no room for equality. As with people. If you do not rule then you are ruled. There would be nothing greater than to be the slave of a beautiful woman. But I cannot find one. One who is so unlike Francis's women. One with the confidence to rule. One without the need for petty nagging to gain control. One to command."

Again a smile tugged at her lips, which she tried to hide. "Oh, I do not think it would be as had as you imagine."

"Do you think-"

"I, ask you may or may not know, have quite a talent for despotism. I have the furs. And, as was proved both tonight and the last, I can cast that fear that you seem to so desperately desire."

"Desperately."

"And now?"

"Now, I crave it more than I ever did before!"

And so she came to live together. We ate on my balcony and had tea on the thick rugs of her sitting room. I did my best to entertain this little woman. She is only little in size, though. Her presence is impressive and geographically speaking she grows her stronger. In no means little then. While in her face there is much Germanic. She still remains, to me, Greek.

She lets me paint her. A skill that only improves with her as a muse. I paint her as the Gods. Psyche and Asrarte. Once as Ares. God of war and violence. I paint according to the expression. That day fire burnt in her eyes. Reminiscing, no doubt, thought she did not share. She insists that I paint her as she is. None of that avoiding of imperfections to satisfy an ugly princess. There is no need I tell her. She is beautiful to many more than just me.

I shall bring her a gift. Of furs. After all. Ho else would ever be more deserving of such a gift.


	3. 3 A kiss

So each poem and quote will remain the same for continuity's sake. Also each chapter will be a similar length so some will be so bloody short, like this bastard. Forgiveness? 3 chapters in a day? GO ME, ay?

* * *

><p>Yesterday I read her Homer. I hope I am beginning to show her the love I believe in. Though slowly she tiered for those adventures so I improvised a little for when she seemed to enjoy. Maybe more. As when I was finished she seemed a little short of breath. May I have been mistaken? No matter<p>

As we lay on a deep crimson rug we listened to the rain thud down on the patios. Relaxing. Only stirring to let me poke the fire. Each time she smiled as a satisfied cat when that little wave of extra heat washed over her skin. As we lay, my fear of beautiful women was all but forgotten. For when I moved to kiss her hand she permitted me to do so with an ever delicate nod of the head.

Later she sat with me at her feet in our warm room. Ours now? I read a short poem I had written for her.

VENUS IN FURS.

"Place thy foot upon thy slave,  
>Oh thou, half of hell, half of dreams;<br>Among the shadows, dark and grave,  
>Thy extended body softly gleams."<p>

It continued but I will not share it. Such words were only for her ears. And so they shall remain as all but this is forgotten. I can only remember the first stanza.

I am again filled with the curious new sensation. I do not believe I am in love. No. Not in love as I have yet to experience such burning passion as I did when we first met, again, in the night. This is no spiritual or emotional thing. It is a form of physical subjection that grows on me like the wisteria on the wall of the chapel on the hill. We walk there sometimes. In retrospect it was more like a cancer. Spreading through me until it consumes me and there almost nothing left of me.

For now, I suffer it more each passing day. Without respite as we spend every waking hour together. At night retiring to our separate chambers. Why do it otherwise as we have yet to share more than a kiss


	4. 4 In the meadow

Another short one. I think Ill do the next one (3 pages?) then call it a night. It's already 2 in the morning over here! Could I trouble you for a review?

* * *

><p>It must have been playing on her mind for a while as she suddenly announced that I interested her:<p>

"You interest me," She stated "Most of you men are dull. Without poetry or anything artistic. At least in you there is some depth and freedom of thought. Or whatever our kind arekind is afforededafforded. Your seriousness delights me. Maybe," another pause as she serchessearches for her words lost in another chain of thought "I might learn to love you." Then she turned back to her book. Leaving me to dewelldwell on the implications of her words, so delicately wishperedwhispered to me.

After a short but relentless shower, we took another walk together as was becoming a tradiotiontradition for us. The humans must have working in the fields as spring was fast approaching. Alone, again, in the medowmeadow with the statue of Venus. As the rain was lifted from the ground by the sun we sat on the bench watching the birds. She sat on my gray coat so as not to get her dress wet. This time a silk affair in a coral pink which lightened her fair skin in comparison, never tanning, it seemed, no matter how many walks in the winter sun. The sparrows flying round Venus' head. The finches resting by her marble feet or drinking from the pools of water formed in the dips in her platform.

Elizabeta, she lets me call her that now, enjoys watching this lovlylovely scene. The moist air maybe making her weary as she resterrested her hair upon my sholdershoulder and I feel her gentle breath on my cheek. This, somehow, gives me the courage to take holder of her hand to ask:

"Could you love me?"

"Why ever not?" ClamlyCalmly looking at me but not lingering as I move to kneel before her. The rain soaking into my legs though the now wet fabric. I press my burning face against the fragrant silk of her gown.

ShokedShocked, she cried "But Gilbert! This isn't right."

Still, I take her foot in my hands and procedproceed to place my lips upon it. It only increases her distress.

"Oh you are getting worse and worse!" tearing herself free from me leaving only her fair slipper in my hands. Reminding meReminding me of the folk tale as she fleedfled to the house.

'Could this be an omen?' I wonder for a moment.


	5. 5 The proposal

Listening to my favouite tracks from the code geass and fma sound tracks. 'Stories' is an appropiate track! I wanted to do the next part but it;s quarter past three now and the next chapter looks to be over 3000 words when I re write it. Tomorrow or maybe the day after. It just keeps getting more werid. If thats possible.

* * *

><p>That day I stayed outside. Avoiding her as best I could. Wondering through the town until dark. It was evening when I returned to my home and by balcony. I froze when a tumble of brown hair fell through the green. Almost comical but I could not laugh. She called down to me with a tinge of impatience in her voice. "Why don't you just come up, already?"<p>

I ran up the stairs as fast as I could but lost my courage when I reached the penultimate step. I knocked very lightly hoping she would not hear me. She did. Without telling me to come in she opened the door herself. Not moving aside to let me enter as she stood in the threshold.

"Where is my slipper?" she asked flatly. Bored already by my presence it seemed. Unlike when we sat by the fire staving off the cold together.

I can only stammer a reply.

She sighed "Get it. Then we can have our tea together and talk."

When I returned she had set out her china and was proceeding to pour the tea as I place the slipped on her table, dried earlier by my fire, the stood behind a chair in the manner of a child waiting for punishment. Then I notice her expression. The lips pursed slightly and her brow contracted into an expression of hardness. Dominance even. This did delight me. She must know this?

Then the illusion was broken as she began to laugh.

"Are you really in love? With me?" tangeable disbelief in both the face and words as again she laughed.

"Yes. I am."

"Do you suffer for it?"

"More than you can imagine, my love."

Her laugher continued at my declaration. I was mortified, defeated, disgusted even as all this was qute useless.

"Well then," Elizabeta continued "I like you with all of my heart."

She held out her hand in a friendly way and I was clueless as to what to do with it. I took it and asked:

"Then, would you become my wife?"

She looked upon me with an unreadable expression on her face. "Now, now… what has given you this courage?"

"Courage?"

"Yes! To ask my hand in marrage so quickly. Me of all people!" She lifted the slipped. Examening it in her hand as she turned it slowly. "I do believe you love me and I have grown to care about you, too. The most important thing is that we find on and other interesting enough. So there would be no danger of boredom. You know what a fickle individual I am. If I am to assume such obligations then I must first be able to rise to those expectations. But I am afraid that I – no, it would only hurt you."

"No! Please be frank. I will understand if you only let me."

"If you so wish it: I do not believe I could ever love a man, mortal or otherwise, for any longer than-," she tilted her head to the side as she pondered "A year? No a month, perhaps?"

"Not even me?"

"For you?" another agoising wait "Perhaps… two monts for you, Gilbert."

"Two months is very long."

"But you go beyond antiquity, madame."

"I knew you could not understand. It _has_ hurt you so."

Our tea and the slipper were forgotten now. She walked across the room to lean agaist the fire place and to watch me from a distance. I move round the table to stand before her. Letting her watch. "Oh, whatever shall I do with you?"

"Whatever you wish I reply." Because it is true. "You may do whatever it is that gives you pleasure."

The morning's dispasure returns as she cries "Illogical! There is no reason to you. Only moments ago you ask me to be your wife and now you again offer youself up to me like a toy! What on earth are you?"

"Elizabeta. I love you."

"Again! Back where we started." And traces of hysteria replaced with incredulous confusion "You love me and want me as you wife. I do not want this. I cannot see any permanence in our feelings."

"But if I am willing to take the risk with you?" I replied.

"While I can imagine being with one man for my life, but as that is a long time, it would have to be a whole man. Only a whole man for my whole life. A man with enough strength to subjugate even me at my greatest and to dominate me. Not a man in love, like you. You have said it yourself on our many walks of how pliable men become when in love. As he places himself in woman's hands. I could not love a malleable man permanently as he kneels as you will soon find yourself." A pause for deliberation. "I shall try with you as I like you so much. I can make no assurances but I will _try_."

To this I again fell at her feet.

"For heaven's sake, here Here you are kneeling before me, already," she said mockingly. "You are making a goodA fine beginning for our _marrage_." When I had risen again sheShe only continued when I had risen, "You have one year. Convince me that this could work. That we are well suited. We shall live as if we are married, for that year, and if we become married at the end of that trial then I will carry out my duties as a wife should.I will give you a year's time to win me, to convince me that we are suited to each other, that we might live together. If you succeed, I will become your wife, and a wife, Severin, who will conscientiously and strictly perform all her duties. During this year we will live as though we were married—""

I could feel my body grow hot.

My blood rose to my head.

In her eyes too there was a sudden flame—

"For this we must live together and you grant me all rights of a husband? Are you willing to do that?"

She smiles. "The rights of husband, lover and of a friend. Will that satify you?"

"I suppose. I have to?"

"We will live together," she continued, "share our daily life, so that we may find out whether we are really fitted for each other. _I grant you all the rights of a husband, of a lover, of a friend_. Are you satisfied?"

"I suppose, I'll have to be?"

"You don't have to."

"Well then, I want to—"

"Splendid. That is how a man speaks. You want to so you do! Here is my hand."Now take my hand."


	6. 6 My past

Could I bother you for a review? Even an anonymous one? Come on! Not that anyone reads this far. Of the 29 visitors so far only 4 reached chapter 5. That makes me sadface.  
>Historical accuracy? Sod it!<br>I chose to change his aunt to Natalia. It does not realy work for nations so a fair few changes going on in here. For a _kazabaika _just think big coat.

* * *

><p>It has been ten days since we started this experiment. I spend every hour with her, except at night. She let me accompany her through the towns and villages of the valley. Most wonderful of all I was allowed to hold her hands in mine. To look into her eyes as she looked into mine. I listen as she talked animatedly about the affairs of court and a little of politics, only lightly though. My love for her is like a bottomless pit. Into which I can do nothing but fall down. No rocks or roots by the side to stop or slow my fall. Nothing can save me for my love of my glorious queen of hearts.<p>

This afternoon we returned to the meadow. We picked the spring flowers and she folded then together in to a crown for the statue as I watched. My goddesses together again, though the marble one would not let me feed grapes though her stone lips. Elizabeta would.

She looked up at me from the grass then, overcome with some strange passion, I lent down to his her. My arms wrapping round her waist as I held her there. She too responded by holding ever closer still. When I stopped to sit up I asked if she was angry with me.

"Why could I ever be angry at anything as natural as this," came her reply, "I fear you still suffer for it."

"Frightfully so, my sweet."

She brushed my mess of hair back to better see my expression. "I do hope it is not for me, my dear old friend."

"Never! It is my fear of it ending. Or you leaving me for a tall dark stranger. As my love for you grows ever closer to madness my fear can only grow." I look into her eyes as she to mine "It torments me. We are not yet married. As you often remind me of how you are not yet mine."

When she rose to place another garland upon our goddess' head I could not help but wrap an arm again around her body. She froze as tiny blue petals fell around us from the anemones half placed on the stone.

"You must know! I could never live without you. My wonderful goddess. Please, if you ever to believe what I say do so now. I truly believe that we belong together. Our souls like to parts of one. Only whole, complete, when with the other. It is real! If you were ever to leave me then I could do naught but die. My land in pieces. My people lost. I need you more than the air I breathe. With you by my side I may even live on beyond that of my kingdom."

"That will hardly be necessary, for I do love you," she took hold of my chin, "you foolish boy! Why ever would I go? To where? With whom?"

"You give me conditions for that love. My love for you is unconditional. Like an ever full well from which you can obtain from whenever it pleases."

These words worry her as her face grows concerned. She sat down beside me, "That is anything but wise as you do not truly know me. We met before but that was on different terms. I shall grow arrogant if you continue this way. Treat me as you should then I can be good to you. Think about it."

"So be it. Be arrogant rather than good to me. All that I ask is that you be mine, mine alone and mine forever. Is that too much to ask of you?"

"This can only end badly."

"This cannot end! As only death would part us, and death is hard to come by for us. If you will not be mine I have no choice but to become yours! I want to serve you as a slave. To suffer for you and give you everything I can and more. If only you would never drive me away from your service."

She pulled me slowly into her chest "This is not the way to my heart. Please, calm down. As I very fond of you I don not wish to see you in this way. In such a state." Letting me she looked me in the eye "What do _you _want? Other than me?"

"Only wish never lose you. For that I want to do everything for you. Anything that _you_ want. As for losing you… I can't think of it. It hurts me so."

"Oh do get up."

I obeyed.

"You are a strange person," continued Elizabeta. "Can you truly feel as such? You would really pay any price for my heart to be yours?"

"Yes, at any price!"

She rose too. Now a different look tugged at her features as she walked around me. Inspecting me as I stood to attention. My army days showing though. "Can you place a value on such things? If I was no longer to love you and belonged to another. What value would these declarations have, then? Just look at yourself! Shuddering at the very thought. It frightens you." It was true. But she just smiled at me. Motioning to me to speak my part.

"It does scare me. How could it not. Someone who I love loving another. Rejecting my feelings for that of another who would even think to refuse her anything. To love someone to the point of madness as I do you I would have to tare myself away leaving my heart and soul behind or die. Plunge a sword into my heart to burn in the fires of hell. Lukewarm flames compared to those within me. I have two ideal. If nether can be achieved by one as great as me then I do not know if anyone has a chance. I must either have a noble faithful woman to share my land and life with. To spend the rest of our time in quite companionship or her opposite. A tyrant over my heart. One without ay virtue or regard for my feelings. To be maltreated to the cusp of death. Beaten and betrayed. No halfway is possible for me. No compromise. It would be an insult to the concept of love itself.

"Have you lost your senses," cried Elizabeta.

"They remain. They remain for you. I love you with not only my heart and mind but my soul and senses too, as they take in your beauty. They need you not to be lost. You are essential to my being. Just chose between my ideals. Either a husband or a slave. You only have to say. One or another. Just say the word and it shall be so."

"If that is what you truly wish then who am I to delight you? After all I can see the benefits of such an interesting arrangement. To have completely in my power and in mine alone. You were foolish to give me that choice, thought. So I shall choose. I choose the second. You shall be my plaything and my slave. To do my bidding. How could I turn down such a kind offer of services. A great knight now under my control, following my every whim."

She had decided. My greatest desire was being granted, the gods must be smiling down upon me! A marriage requires equality but the greatest passions of life and literature stem of opposites in equality in their love." My love is part hate and part fear. Some may call it impure but I refute that claim. How can such a abstract creation such as love be defined as pure or impure when it is not clouded by lust. "The hammer and anvil," I whisper to her "in such a relation there must be a hammer and an anvil. For you I wish to be an anvil. How could I ever be happy looking down a woman such as you? As I want to adore a woman yet for this I require her to be cruel to me."

This sudden out burst had angered her a little. She still regards me foolish and ill versed in love, in practice at least. "Do you think I could ever be capable of such a thing. To treat the one I love with such disrespect.

"Why ever not? As I shall only ever adore you more for it? Does it not show you strength and intelligence that you can hold me as you do? With such a strong will"

"So… am I to understand then that which repels others, attracts you."

"Yes. No doubt there are more eloquent ways of describing it but now you understand. Though I do not find my fixation strange. After all, who does not love these beautiful furs. My passions are simply stronger than the others emotions. Idealistic. After all: we all know how close lust and cruelty are."

"I seems impossible to reason with a fool such as you. You are soft, sensual, by nature, are you not. Your hardness must have been as a result of your up bringing."

"Do you think the martyrs are also soft by nature. Sensual, maybe?"

"The martyrs, Gilbert? Why do you think they where?"

"No. I do not think that. I believe they were like me. _Supersensual men _like myself. They sought out suffering as others have sought out pleasure. I believe I am the same as them as we find a heightened pleasure in our pain. I too am a _supersensual_ fool."

"You are a fool, no doubt about it. But must you become a martyr, too? The _martyr of a woman_."

Now we sit on her balcony. The warm summer air and the pollen in the air makes us heady. The sea of green has grown strongly over the passing months providing us with a great ceiling of plant but letting us view the starry sky, exposed through the gaps. It is late at night so all is silent except for the bark of a dog, missing it's mate. While she sits in a high-backed chair, I sit on the footstool with I at her feet as has become the norm. She has asked me to tell her of my childhood. She had wondered aloud if I had always been this way. If these 'strange tendencies' as she liked to call them had always been with me.

"I cannot remember a time when I did not feel those desires. I can't remember my first few years. Though I was probably brought up on sour goats milk. I never knew many women and any I encountered made me inexplicably shy, never seemed to express any real interest in them. I was perfectly happy in your company as I believed you to be male. The only women I knew where stone. The many statue Marys scattered around the churches we visited. So when I first laid eyes on a sculpture of Venus, even if it was a replica, I was enraptured. My prayer went to her, in my mind at least, rather than the virgin. I can remember leaving the camp in the dead of night to visit her. By the light from a slit of moon I found my way back to her. I the cold night I lay myself before her and kissed the feet of my goddess. Me! In the way I had seen the peasants do in front of the dead saviour.

"It was not enough for me as an irresistible desire to be closer to her griped me. I rose an embraced the beautiful freezing body. I kissed those cold lips till they were as warm as my own."

"You strange man," she sighed "What did you do then."

"I fled. Back to the camp, my men, my tent. But I could not escape my mistress now. She followed me into my dreams and my thoughts, even after we left the statue far behind us.

"When ever I was not on the battle field I studied. The words of the ancient Greeks became as familiar to me as the words of the bible and church, then more so. I was with Paris when he gave the fateful apple to Venus, I saw Troy burn, and followed Ulysses on his wanderings. Those stories built the foundation for my beliefs about women. As these tales are beautiful, as you are, and the women depicted by then controlled their men but intelligence and a strong will. I avoided anything vulgar to read. But as I grew older the girls I encountered were not beautiful. They were common as peasants; even those of noble birth or deed. So I avoided any unnecessary contact with them. I am sure you remember our encounter in the woods. A memory I am not proud of. I was supersensual as I am now: to the point of madness."

"Now at one time I lived in a castle at some time of relative peace. There was a delightful young chamber-maid who worked there for a few years. She was always polite, charming and must have been quite taken by me as she stopped cleaning the room one day to give me a kiss. She was pretty, yes, but when her full, soft, lips pressed so gently against mine I could do nothing but fend of the temptress with by book. This displeased her greatly as the left my room quite indignant!"

Elizabeta broke out in a loud laughter. "It would, indeed, be hard to find another man like you, but continue. How did you come to love Fur."

"When it was decided I should study I did so with out and order or reason. We had libraries full of books that I could read from whenever. I amassed a vast personal collection too, mostly stolen from foreign street dealers. Chemistry and alchemy, naturally as many great chemists are German but, also philosophy and law. The age of enlightenment they called it. Literature, too. Not only homer but Voltaire as he was a friend of fritz and of too many others to name.

But even with this information presented to me I grew in confusion. Conflicting ideas made me fanatical. Well more so than I was before and more supersensual. Thought all of this Venus and my ideal woman remained in my imagination. She would walk with me through my books. Often she would lie with cherubs or among a bed of roes. Not always as stone or plaster but often enough with Natalia's hair and cold piercing eyes. In her ermine furs. With robes of crushed red velvet. In her _kazabaika_, trimmed with the darkest fur.

"Because one woman I do remember encountering during that time was a Belarus. She was friendly enough as she knew who I was. When she gave me a kiss to welcome me again into her home my mind because clouded. My senses in turmoil. She thought herself to be much older than myself as she was over forty yet very well preserved. Still attractive as she was I her youth but importantly in possession of a jacket with a fur-edge. It may have been green to Natalia's red but my reaction was the same as ever. Her sternness delighted me.

"She was a beautiful majestic woman with an attractive smile.

I had been taught to hate her as was the political necessity. However I was often left to my own devices, in which time she began to visit me. While my behaviour was always rude to her in public, as she was to me, when we were unwatched she used that time to control me. I remember the first time quite vividly. She was visiting along with her brother. I did not know this until he followed her into my room with his sadistic smile on is face. She proceeded to request something in Russian then without any reason: bind me hand and foot. You know Ivan, I could do nothing to stop it even with violent resistance I was defeated. Thankfully he left. But Natalia pulled back her sleeves and whipped me like a dog. And she kept on doing so after my skin was raw then bloody. I cried out and wept and _begged_ for mercy. After what felt like hours she untied me. Even then I was forced again to the ground, to thank her for the punishment! But thank her I did and kissed her hand too. All through out she wore her regal furs.

"Under the lash of a beautiful woman I realised the truth. I am the supersensual fool! When she hurt me in her fur lined coats she became the most desirable woman in the world to me. She my wrathful queen.

"I then decided how I would reserve my love only for my ideal as only then could I be truly happy"

Elizabeta seemed confused at this declaration "So did you love her?"

"No, no. She had little cruelty about he as she let me adore her after discovering my nature. It did not take her long afterwards to make me happy. I was innocent back then. Only read about such things. She let me lay at her feet and beg. She even let me kiss he hands that hurt me. Did you ever wonder how she because so talented with a knife? In retrospect I was only in love with her hands. Their delicate nature and what they were capable of. So I played with them. I remember watching then move along the fur and held against the light. I could not get enough of them.

She looked down at her hands that rested in her lap. When I noticed I could not help but smile.

"Though thought my adventures I have never loved an individual such as I love you, now. I courted several actresses in my time but only ever for the roles they played, never the girl, but the strong queens and maidens they portrayed. I have been betrayed by women over and over. Pretending to be virtuous then selling me for another. While I enjoy it my ideal would never lie about it. She would be honest in how she betrays me. I hate this sentimental façade they put on. Show me a woman who is honest that she is a temptress. One who would say to me: I am a pompadour. Then I would adore every fibre of her being."

Elizabeta rose and opened the window.

"You do interest me. Whenever you talk like this my heart beats faster. When you talk of putting such women on a pedestal you arouse my imagination. I fear you shall be me downfall and I yours. These words you speak may one day corrupt me to the core. Even the most innocent of maidens would be corrupted by you."


	7. 7 A midnight conversation

This has been shorterned because of a great number of analogys and refernces that would take a _**lot **_of googleing. I guess this is still a T as I was able to get the original out of the Library and I'm 16. Suppose the next is coming later on tonight. Only a few hundered words, I expect. I might 'sex up' chapter 9. Do you want that?

* * *

><p>It was the middle of the night when I was woken by a tapping on my thin windows. It was my Venus in her furs, like when we first met. Re-met. I have almost forgotten the 'boy' she used to be.<p>

"I can't sleep. Your little stories have kept me awake all night. You must come and stay with me in."

When I entered her living room she lit us a small fire. The nights were becoming cold as summer slowly came to its end. She laid her furs in front of that fire to warm. Smiling at me she spoke:

"I cannot put them on until they are warm enough."

This promise made me walk over to kiss her, gently on her ever soft lips. We stood there together in one and others arm as the fire crackled quietly. I could feel she was still cold as I helped her into her heavy furs and as I walked her over to the bed. Then I pulled up a chair so I could sit beside her without intruding. We sunk our hands deep into the warm fabric and held hands beneath the coat.

"You told me before but, why these furs?"

"As I said before I must have been born with it. I always had no trouble with wild animals in my youth. Catching rabbits and the like but there is some science behind it. There is some connection between electricity and heat. Both of which came excite the senses. Not only that, but the animals that wore the furs as skin before: great beasts of strength and power. With the fur of a tiger you would become a Tiger, for me at least. Rare! Precious! Dangerous! That is what your kind is to me but with furs. Oh! The effect is increased so deliciously.

"I am just a battery powered cat to you!"

"I don't have a way with words. I was born for fighting and fighting alone. I try to imitate the masters of language but it must all sound so contrite. I am sorry. It was poorly explained symbolism. Monarchs use furs for that very purpose. Showing off about how they killed a bear. You, why you could do it without servants' help. That is beside the point: that fur has become something associated with power and beauty."

"Better," she said with a subtle smile playing on her lips, "What else do _you_ personally associate with these fine furs of mine?"

"As you well know, suffering is so attractive to me."

"Yes. Nothing seems to intensify your passion then suffering!"

"It is true, my love. Furs for me also indicate an inner strength as well as an ability to terrorise me. A tyrant would have a coat of dark furs."

"Mine are quite light. Maybe I should buy another." She is toying with me now. She must know what such casual statements do to me. Maybe there is a tyrant within her just waiting to be released form the binds of courtesy and conventions. Yet I must press on.

"I cannot imagine my ideal without those luxurious furs."

"I understand," Elizabeta again interrupted. "It gives a dominant and imposing quality to a woman."

"It's not just that. You know I am _supersensual_. I was very young when introduced to the tales of those martyrs. Those legends enthralled me like no other. While I was horrified by the trials they experienced I too wanted to recreate their events. I could never have been satisfied with anything else. And if those things could have been forced upon me by a woman then it would all be worth it.

"One thing I do carry on form my days a knight of God is that sex is sacred. Maybe the only remaining sacred as it is the only sin I have yet to commit. For that prize a man must first prove himself then court a woman. Like a priest her must devote himself to her to gain her favour."

Another smile "There are some animals who treat their men terribly, such as the mantis: which bite the heads of their made during sex. As you do not need a male after he has done what is necessary. I species will still continue. Or the black widow spider would eat her partners as soon as the job was done, yet the men keep coming. Do you envy them?"

I envied the Knight Ctirad whom the daring Amazon Scharka craftily ensnared in a forest near Prague, and carried to her castle Divin, where, after having amused herself a while with him, she had him broken on the wheel—"

"That. Is disgusting. How could you ever hope for such a fate? Those women would make you forget this folly. As they break you, you would wish that you never thought to find that dammed ideal of yours."

"Do you think so? I hardly do."

"Have you actually lost your senses?"

"That is more than possible considering how often you suggest it. The great women of history have either been tyrants or the powers behind the throne. Both of which have had their bidding done. Men tortured by their command.

"So now these furs excite _your_ imagination!" Elizabeta said as she began to move around within her coat. Tempting me as she lay back on the bed before me while looking me in my eyes the whole time. I was transfixed as the material moved every lower, revealing more of her chest and arms. I could here my breaths slow and grow pained. "So? Here we are. You are breaking upon my wheel."

Overcome by my desire I cast my chair aside to lean over her and shower her body with kisses. My arms surrounded her as they slipped beneath the fur. Her skin millimetres from mine through her nightgown. Here I was. With her in her bedroom, alone. Here she could do as she wanted with me. Considering her reaction this is what she wanted. I placed my hand in hers and I could feel her pluse race. Each kiss I left on her chest resulted in a gasp for breath.

"Yes! My deepest desire is awake once more. For it has lain dormant for far too long."

"And this is?" She put her hand on my neck. That small touch was all I needed to be under here spell. I closed my eyes as I whispered it to her.

_"To be the slave of a woman, a beautiful woman, whom I love, whom I worship."_

"Who is always cruel, never kind," Elizabeta interrupted.

"Oh yes," I sigh, "She would whip me raw then make me watch as she gives herself to another."

"That's quite a voyeuristic desire!"

"No, not like that. She would torture me by making it known that it was happening.

"And what if she was to give you to that lover? What then? As she drives you insane with jealousy she would hand you over to him and his mercy!"

This suggestion frightened me.

"You surpass my dreams."

"I too have an imagination. Your words are like more coal for its fire," she said "But this ideal would not be too hard to find. What would happen if it was too much for you?"

"With that: I wonder if I have found my ideal in you!" With this I hold her close to me. Trying to keep her warm in her furs.

She just laughed. She laughed at my suggestion as she walked out of the room. As her furs dropped from her shoulders to the floor. As I sat in the chair I could still hear her outside in the night's crisp air.

1252


	8. 8 We are decided

We met in the park today. That's when she finally asked me what had been bothering her since the day before last when I further explained my ideal. When she finally said it relief flooded her face.

"Do you _really_ want me to be all that for you. Do you think _I_ could become your _tyrant?_"

It left me speechless as I did not think she would ever ask me this. As she often avoided the subject. At this point I had to choose between my ideals: my goddess or my equal. When I had decided she sat on the grass before me. Looking up expectantly as she pulled the petals of a flower. Still summer for us it seems. I joined her on the grass then took a hold of her hands. Then I begged. Shamelessly.

"Accept my hand in marriage. Be loyal and stay with me forever. A true wife to me. Remain for me as pure as you are now and continue to love me as you assure me often that you do. Nothing would make me happier," watching her expression I continue "But if you cannot do that for me then you must become my personal Venus. Without any reservation or your softness that I see now."

"Our year is not yet up. I do not think I could ever tie myself down like that. A political marriage, maybe, but as people? You still have yet to prove yourself. Your company is delightful but you are weak. I think you would prefer your tyrant to my love."

"You are capable. More than capable. That at least has been proved by our trial. You would enjoy it. A man beneath you. Living only for you."

"Perhaps." He voice heavy with uncertainty. But it was progress.

"_You have corrupted my innocence and inflamed my blood."_ Is it decided? "You have taken a hold of my soul.

"There can't be a half way for us." I kissed her feet to emphasise the point. As she looked into my eye I guess she must finally have realised how badly I wanted this.

Maybe this had made her furious. Or maybe it had made her terrified as she commanded me: "Never, ever, speak to me like this again. I could not bare it. I love you! If you love me then you would stop as if this continues then I do not know if I could stop." After this outburst she calmed. Placed a gentle kiss on my cheek, smiling expectantly.

"I am serious. I adore you. For all these words of needless embellishment I will suffer anything of you just to stay by you side." I had disappointed her. A woman can't change a man through kindness.

"Gilbert I am warning you! Stop this"

"There is no point in it. Just don't ever drive me away. I trust you. You would not abuse that desire."

"I am weak. You can't trust anyone with such power over you. We have our duties to our people. Have you forgotten that? What of them, you used to speak so highly of them but now they… I do not know what to do with you. To be for you."

"You can be it. You can abuse me."

"I can't!"

"You can!"

"FINE!" she cried throwing her arms around my neck. "I love you. I don't want to hurt you but I will try. Because I love you like I have love no other. I shall be… your ideal."

* * *

><p>The next chapter is when it all kicks off. Let's all go to the whip shop! I am serious, sort of. Don'y know why I bother. See ya tomorrow!<p> 


	9. 9 Shopping and slavery

This chapter is dedicated to my only Mexican reader and the one who faved this story. I have a fave. This is so cool! What's also cool is how chapter 8 has more views than chapter 7!  
>Writen listening to 'Venus in furs' by Velvet underground. To avoid spaming inboxes I will be combineing some of the shorter chapters. Also: <strong>If writen in <em>italics <em>it will be a direct quote from the book. I have been keeping the most important lines in here.**

* * *

><p>We were sitting in dining room, she reading and I playing with my canary. Wordlessly Elizabeta got up and picked up here purse from the sideboard. It was time to go shopping in the town. It was a Friday so the market was open when we arrive. She walked purposely though the stalls until we reached an animal stall. A merchant with greying hair and a great beard watched as she examined whips. Long with short handles.<p>

She let out a slow sigh glancing at me she said: "These are much too small. I need something for a much larger type of dog. Like the ones used in Russia on obstinate slaves."

From beneath a box he withdrew a different selection. As she held them, deliberating, my skin grew hot in anticipation. Not knowing when she would use one if she did follow though. After choosing a great black whip she paid the man. She was calm throughout that transaction and who never know what was intended for his product.

"Goodbye. I have other matters to attend to which you are to have nothing to do with you." I had no option but to leave her. However when I had looped round I was lucky enough to see her exit the furrier's. I can't explain how much that sight delighted me more so than her purchase of the whip as a woman would not necessarily need a tool to exact pain. I turned back the way I came from to let our paths converge later. When we did meet we finally spoke.

"How do you feel?" I asked.

"I have always told you how exciting for stories have been for me." She was in a very good mood "It will be fun to have such a grand man begging at my feet. But I don't know how long this can last for me. It's new and exciting, yes, but when it stops being new it may also cease to excite me. It's dangerous for you. You have created a monster and set it upon yourself. I may push you aside after growing tired of you company. You shall be the victim of my experimentation. The first victim"

"If that was ever to happen then I would become you slave to please you." The comment about first victim did not register. No body would ever want this but me I am sure. It reminded me of the inventor of the iron ox. The victim would be placed within it then a fire lit beneath the beast. The theory was the screams of agony produced would sound like the mighty bellows of an ox as the wails reverberate within. Its inventors fate was quite ironic as Dionysius had the ox's creator burnt within it just to make sure his claims were true. I could not help but whisper to myself, "A female Dionysius."

"Pardon? Did you say something?"

"Oh. Sorry. I said I am yours for good or evil. Choose and it shall be. All my dreams are being fulfilled. I could not ask for anything more."

That evening I found a not left on my desk. A deep crimson ink spelt out her message to me:

"My Beloved,

I do not care to see you to-day or to-morrow, and not until evening the day after tomorrow, and then _as my slave_.

Your mistress

Elizabeta."

She had underlined 'as my slave' for me. As if I needed any more encouragement. I had two days to kill and the temptation would be too great. I stole a horse then rode into the mountains until the time was right then killing animals for food as well as for time. It was agony to wait but not as painful as my mistress would be. I have returned to her door after a quick wash and changing of my dirty clothes. I knock.

She calls out to me.

"Come in." I do so.

When I enter I find her standing in the centre of the room. The lights are dim but I can see she is dressed in a bream satin dress. On her head is a tiara of silver and white gems. At the centre was a single ruby. But wrapped round her body is a scarlet _kazabaika_, richly edged with ermine. She had even powdered her hair imitate the statue. She had, again, supposed my imagination. I could not believe it so I rushed towards her. But glare stops me in my tracks.

"Slave."

I bend to kiss the edge of her coat while she looks down at me in contempt.

"Does my appearance please you?"

"Yes, mistress." I watch as she parades around the room then admire herself in the mirror. She walked confidently with a proud expression on her face.

"Bring me my whip."

I try to get up to look for it. "Stay on the floor!" I move on my hands and knees to the side table to bring it to her. When I do she flicks her wrist to make it slide through the air producing a glorious hissing noise.

"Marvellous woman!" I exclaimed.

"Silence! Hold you tongue, slave." As punishment she brought down the whip with such force that when it hit me cheek it bled. She froze then dropped the whip. She threw her arms around me before wiping the blood away to ask if she hurt me.

"No, my love." I replied "If you did I would not care. Try again if you wish. All I would feel is happiness."

Elizabeta let out a sigh. "This act of cruelty does not bring me joy."

"Then do it for me. I love you."

"I can't. The woman who beats her slaves is an evil woman. If she was your mistress you could not love her. It is not in my heart to carry out such acts."

"Please! I beg of you. I have tasted what it could be. It's intoxicating."

"Will this be enough?" Another strike landed upon my side then another. She smiled.

"It is only wetted my appetite."

"You can not be serious."

"You love me. For that I love you more than my own life. I want to be able to give you my love until I die. I am serious!"

"Prussia!"

I lay before her and asked her to tread me underfoot.

"I do not enjoy this play acting. I don't enjoy your pain as you claim."

"Then let it be real. Do not pretend."

"This is you last warning, Gilbert. There is no going back after this." She is still sacred of what she could become. Such a beautiful tyrant!

"I you loved me, you would do this for me. I need it." She does not look pained. Just blank but then a subtle smile began to show through.

"If I loved you?" she repeated my words. "I shall show you that love." Playing with the whip in her hands, giving it a few experimental whips in the air. Letting it curl gracefully around her. _"Be then my slave, and know what it means to be delivered into the hands of a woman."_ This declaration was punctuated with a kick. Then another, harder, which pushed me to the ground. As if her body was remembering how she used to fight. "Do you like that?" I did.

Still playing with the whip she commanded me.

"Up!" I tried to rise but as I did so she smacked me down. "Not like that, slave, get down on your knees." I did so. There I was panting in anticipation as I held out my arms to her.

The first blows landed on my outstretched arms. As they burned it became harder to hold them aloft for her. When I faltered she began to work on my back. The force rubbing the flesh raw. They hurt but as they came from the object of my affections I enjoyed it. As she hurt me I came to the realisation that I would really die for her.

I had not yet bled much when she stopped. "I do believe I am beginning to enjoy this. I wish to know how far you would go for me. To discover how much it would take for you to beg for mercy. There is not a word to describe this feeling. I want to here you wail and groan"

As I rose I attempted to take her hand and kiss it but I was kicked away, like a dog. Glaring down at me with contempt burning in her eyes she commanded:

"Get out of my sight!"


	10. 10 Dreaming

I shal no longer give appologies for short chapters. They happen. Not my decision. Still a real lack of reviews! This makes me very sad.

* * *

><p>I did not sleep well that night. When I awoke the sun was slowily rising above the horizon, the orange glow hurting my eyes.<p>

Of the mess of events in my mind, which were true and which dreams. What had happened? Slowly the realisation dawned on me. She has _whipped_ me! Even now I can feel the burn against my flesh and the red marks across my skin. My dream had become my reality. Joy does not flood me as I expected it would. Was I dissaponted? No! Only tired.

The cruelty she displayed for me has amazed me. My adoration can only grow from this. What happiness I have found beneather her feet. This expressed by this complete devosion to her. After having spent a feverish night filled with confused dreams, I awoke. Dawn was just beginning to break.

How much of what was hovering in my memory was true; what had I actually experienced and what had I dreamed? That I had been whipped was certain. I can still feel each blow, and count the burning red stripes on my body. And _she_ whipped me. Now I know everything.

My dream has become truth. How does it make me feel? Am I disappointed in the realization of my dream?

No, I am merely somewhat tired, but her cruelty has enraptured me. Oh, how I love her, adore her! All this cannot express in the remotest way my feeling for her, my complete devotion to her. What happiness to be her slave!


	11. 11 Hesitation

So all the chapter names are cra. It helps the navigation, da?

* * *

><p>When she calls up from her balcony I come running. When she opens the door for me, extending her hand to me, I embrace her.<p>

She moves into me, her head pressed against my chest while she whispers "I feel so ashamed of my behaviour."

"Why?"

"Oh, just please forget that ugly scene from yesterday" her once firm voice now quivering "I am done with it! You mad wish was granted and now lets lease move one from it. We can be reasonable now. Me your wife in a year and we shall be happy with that. It is all we need?"

This frightens me "Please! Am I not your slave?"

"No! not another word of the slavery. Or the whip .Or even cruelty. For you I may were the furs but nothing more. Come help me into the jacket"


	12. 12 Have you scratched me?

Is he not the cutest little retard! Also much love to my commenter. Get an account then we could chat about that book?

* * *

><p>The cuckoo-clock on the mantle piece finally struck midnight. I was tired. I wanted to leave, too sleep. When I got up she pulled be back down onto the ottoman with her. Placing her hand either side of my body she kissed me. She was gentle at first but her kisses became harder, pushing against me. This told me all I needed to know.<p>

I lent forward so that she tilted backwards, allowing me to dominate. She wrapped her arms around me as our hearts began to race, all thoughts of sleeping forgotten. Her long curling hair falling about her shimmering in the candle light. The lace and satin of her gown crackled within her fur.

"Please," I stammered out this request to deepen our kiss.

"Do with me what you will," she whispered.

"Whip me."

"I told you not to speak of that again." Elizabeta sighed, "Is there no cure for this idiocy?"

"I am a fool and I am in love. I fear there can never be a cure."

"Are you repressed like Arthur? Are you so unsatisfied you crave such unspeakable things? _Our unnatural way of life must generate such illnesses_."

"Cure me! Make me sane!" I say as I pull my hands through her hair. Untangling the unruly strands to let her see better. The clouds obscuring the moon outside drifted by, drowning us in a sliver light that played so beautifully against her skin. As well as the animal's I noted.

I could not help but kiss her. She kissed me. There was no hope. It was as if she was trying to kill me. We did not stop for breath. I wondered to myself how long we can go without air. Quite a while it seemed, for us. Only living of one and other. I had lost all reason so she was the one to break away. She was in control. I loved it.

"What is the matter?" asked Elizabeta.

"This is painful. It hurts me so"

This made her laugh hysterically. Her hair flying as she tossed her head around. Mocking my pain. She pulled me closer "You enjoy it. The pain of it. Who am I to refuse you it?"

"You have given me what I want. You belong to me, now. Whether it is for all eternity of just an alcohol fuelled night then it is worth it. I can be happy now. I want you to take that from me. All of it. If that brings you but one ounce of happiness that it will be worth it."

"Maybe now we can be sensible," she whispered as she kissed me again. All night long she had been tempting me with her powdered hair and furs. Now I was able to open the ermine to get to her body within. The lace that separated us was soon discarded as we kissed. It was messy, as we were still inexperienced, but so enjoyable. We may have agreed to act married but we had yet to go this far. Living for the moment, my mind clouded by passion.

She glanced down to my hand. It was stained with her blood. Did you just _scratch_ me." She asked, incredulous.

"No, I believe, I have bitten you."


	13. 13 Visitors

It seems whenever someone else arrives in our life we change.

We had spent our day together as is the norm. Visiting the lakes and the mountains of the area, me reading to her in the shade and I worked on the finishing detail of Elizabeta's portrait. We loved on and other. Her smiling face was beautiful.

But then another of her friends arrive. Some unacnolaged nation? I have never heard of her. Lives with the Netherlands. Older, in human years at least with experience in life. Less scrupulous and I can see how this newcomers influence is growing over my beloved.

Has she now ceased to love me?


	14. 14 Walk in the park

I think this is realy sweet. But these chapters must be very short for you all.

* * *

><p>This is horrible. As her friend lives with us we can never be alone. I can not play my role as a lover because Elizabeta treats me like a stranger. She and her young friend are always in the company of men. The surround them like hyenas. Today we when out walking but she hung back with me. People assumed she was just tried but internally I rejoiced as she shunned their company in favour of mine.<p>

"My friend… she cannot understand how I manage to love someone like you." She loves me! "She has told me of what I am missing: all those wild parties of Venice and Vienna. The frivolous lives they all lead in the cities. Throwing money around as if it were nothing. All the handsome men who would give much for my favour. I shall stay with you. I can't leave you for all that. I do not know why she told me this. To tempt me away, I assume. But how could I ever do that to you?" She gave me a sad smile, hoping to reassure me of her fealings.

I raise my hat to here then gesture that she should rejoin the main group. "Never let me stand in the way of your happiness, my love. You do not need to think of me. I am happy just to think of you."

The smile she gave me in return for this statement warmed me to the core. It was as if all my wounds had been healed by her happiness. My scars faded for her. In that moment I forgot all the pain she had ever caused me; both willing and un-willing.

_I now am aware again of how much I love her._


End file.
